


What Happens in Midgard

by ikoliholic (makeme)



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Thor (2011), and so does Thor, not an AU as requested, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeme/pseuds/ikoliholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a little-known secret involving the two sons of Odin. By the rules of Midgard, the brothers are married…</p><p>To each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dangerous Cocktail

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [thorduna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna) in the [ThorLokiPromptMeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ThorLokiPromptMeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  _I'd love a fic where Thor and Loki get drunk-married in Las Vegas.. in the morning it goes from cracky to angsty real quick, as they mutually pine and think that the other considers this the worst thing to ever happen._  
> 
> So, this isn't actually Human AU (sorry for blatantly ignoring a pretty big request from the original prompt); it wrote itself as Pre-Canon instead. This is what usually happens in my fics, so it's no surprise really. Nevertheless, I am sorry!  
> I do hope you enjoy, and I apologise in advance. Please note that the further in you go, the less funny it becomes.

There is a little-known secret involving the two sons of Odin. So secret that in fact, Odin himself does not even know of it, even though he is partly responsible.

Long before Thor was cast out after inciting further war with Jotunheim, long before Loki fell into the Void; so far back that it was even the days before Thor first wielded Mjolnir, the brothers had been temporarily cast down to Midgard by the All-Father— when they were barely men _at all_ , so that they might better understand the mortal virtue of humiliation.

Odin had handed out such punishment before, with mixed results, but he had never sent Thor and Loki to Midgard. It did not work out as anticipated.

The secret, then? By the rules of Midgard, the brothers are married…

To each other.

***

Thor Odinson awakes with copious amounts of dust overwhelming his mouth, eyes and nose. The wind pelts hard against his skin in a most disorientating way.

He has not yet been awarded Mjolnir; the warrior’s weapon which he is _so close_ to being worthy of. That is, until his most recent escapade with his trickster brother got him sidetracked…

Loki had a skill for doing that. Dragging Thor right down to his base level of humour and mischief. Thor loved it typically, but not on this day— for Odin had not seen any humour in the joke _whatsoever_.

He sits up and coughs, looking down at his own body; plain clothes, no armour, _covered_ in grains of sand. A desert, then. But where in all of the nine realms had Odin temporarily cast him out as punishment this time?

“ _One month,_ ” Odin had bellowed, eye fierce with shame and disappointment. “ _One month. And so close, you were. Yet you are still so easily influenced by your brother._ ”

The thought immediately drags him out of his daze to think of Loki. Was he here also? That was usually the way the penance went, together, and reluctant…

It’s evening time, and the sun sets in a way that Thor immediately reckons to be Midgard. All purple and orange hues, swirled together with a first peppering of constellations. Southern hemisphere, most likely. Standing up with a little struggle, his eyes scan across the horizon for any sign of his brother, but sees nothing. _Good_. He would rather not see Loki right now.

Just as Thor lets his guard down and relaxes, he is pounced on from behind and sent crashing to the ground once more.

“You fool!” The incandescent rage in Loki’s voice is mis-directed, he thinks. Nevertheless, he allows his brother to straddle him and pin him to the dry desert dirt, eyes wild and green against the backdrop of the purple-tinged sky. “This is all your fault!”

And he has to laugh at this, because Loki _never_ admits blame for his actions. On some days this angers Thor — now he can but simply laugh, lest he kill Loki for once again delaying the hammer of its rightful wielder, so he shoves him off with ease, looks down at his forlorn face, incredulous. “My brother, only _you_ could cause unequivocal mayhem during the summer season with such sorcery and then place the fault to _me_.”

Loki stands now, dusting the dirt off of himself haughtily. “If it wasn’t for you messing up the cover-up story, we could have tricked those fools with ease. Father wouldn’t have been told a thing.” He stalks over to Thor, all pointy-fingers, but devoid of the previous rage. “So now we are stuck in the Nevada Desert of Midgard, thanks to your utter incompetence.”

“Nevada?”

“Yes. It is in America,” Loki shoves at him, “did you _ever_ take constellation study seriously?”

Thor smiles now. Despite his initial anger at being thrown off to an obscure location for a misdeed _once more_ —and petty _Midgard_ , of all places— he is quite happy to spend time alone with Loki, for this is when he usually has the most fun.

“It is not so bad. Last time, we were sent to fend for ourselves on Vanaheim for a month. Surely you do not forget? The forest wolves almost had you torn into ribbons within a day.”

Loki scowls. “Yes. Well. You are forgetting the comely maiden that you almost succumbed to… who turned out to be naught more than an orc, fancified.”

“I was under the influence of the most strongest Alfheim alcohol!” Thor says, tone high-pitched. The imported alcohol had been to blame for everything on that trip… They share an uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

“I despise Midgard,” Loki says, voice low and bitter now. “From all that I have read, they are ever pitiful creatures with even more pitiful lifespans.”

The sky is darker now. On the horizon, there’s an array of twinkling lights that indicate signs of life. Thor takes a step forward, then turns to face Loki.

“Perhaps. But if we are to be left for a month, my brother, let us find out more.”

***

It has been a most torturous few weeks, Loki thinks. The place of Las Vegas is a most tacky, degenerate residence. Worse still, Odin had stripped Thor and Loki of their seid abilities, which had meant a great deal more to Loki than it had to Thor. They had to get by on raw strength and tricks alone. It’d taken three whole days of sleeping rough before Loki had managed to swindle falsified identification documents and convince a foolish drunken woman into giving them enough cash to find adequate chambers.

“It is not so bad,” Thor says, finishing off _another_ huge stein of ale. Loki rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw tight.

“Just because it is free, it does not warrant you drinking the establishment bone dry.”

“Well,” Thor hiccups, “you had better stop gambling so proficiently then.”

Thor makes a valid enough point. Loki had something of a _finesse_ for the casinos, of which Las Vegas is inundated with. He had managed to earn approximately three hundred and forty four thousand dollars over the past few weeks, which apparently equates to a handsome sum in Midgardian terms. If only they weren’t to be continuously thrown out of the said establishments prior to collecting the winnings, or made to _hand back_ the winnings due to Thor’s insistence on smashing down plates and glass in hearty appreciation and excitement, usually resulting in major altercations and general chaos.

Consequently, this has meant that the only kind of accommodation they have managed to afford is a most unseemly motel, just outside of the strip.

Still, tonight is going to be the night — Loki would prefer to spend the remaining few days of his time in this pathetic realm living in luxury, _not_ in a place where roaches roam freely across a shared bed mattress with his bare-ass oaf of a sleeping brother.

From the evening’s measly one hundred and fifty dollar start out pot, he has managed to lie, trick, gamble and swindle his way to being over twenty thousand dollars up on the Black Jack table alone.

Loki smiles with discreet, smug satisfaction. Perhaps if he _were_ Midgardian, he would be a professional gambler.

As if on cue, Thor slurps the last of his drink.

“You _dare_.” Loki warns, eyes sharp. Thor heeds, and places the stein back down to the table. “I would not be thrown out of this casino when I am on such an impeccable streak.”

“Another!” Thor bellows to the nearest scantily-clad server, “And I will have a platter of lobster too.”

“ _Another_ platter?” She asks, in genuine disbelief.

“Aye. And make it quick.”

“Thor, you need to actually be _playing the games_ to qualify for the complimentary sustenance.” Loki growls once she is out of earshot. Thor bounds over to him, and Loki instantly regrets mentioning this fact. Thor picks up _his_ drink, sniffs and takes a sip.

“What is this?” He licks his lips in appreciation, swallowing audibly.

“A _martinez_.” Indeed Loki hates this realm, but the main thing he has learned from this stint is that the Midgardians are extremely proficient in concocting appealing variants of their alcoholic beverages. “It contains gin, sweet vermouth, maraschino and bitters.”

Thor takes a larger gulp this time. “I do not know what you speak of, but ’tis most complex and refreshing. Perhaps I should drink these instead of mead.”

Loki did not expect Midgardian alcohol to have any effect on their superior bodies. But then, they are young and unpracticed, stripped of power… and have been drinking —on this day at least— since breakfast.

“Are you cheating?” Thor asks, loudly, slurping on his fourth martinez. Noticing that Loki is in fact, cheating.

Loki gulps, face remaining neutral. “Time to collect my winnings, I think.”

They flee the casino just in the nick of time. Two brutal-looking security guards bound after them, but Loki somehow manages to talk Thor out of turning back and causing a raucous; instead they flee cash-in-hand down the strip.

Hiding in a side-alley, they stuff every conceivable inch of their clothing possible with wads of cash. “We are to stay in nicer chambers tonight.” Loki declares, breathless and heady from all the running, winning and alcohol. “But first, a drink or two to celebrate?”

They stride into a decent-looking club, and pound the cocktail list.

Some time later, and after much heated and slurred discussion, they decide that _margaritas_ are the best of all the cocktails they have tried.

They get thrown out not long after this, when Loki punches the barman for politely explaining that they have run out of limes.

Back on the strip they walk. The cool breeze, the overstimulating lights, a total invasion of the senses… Loki has to lean against Thor.

“My brother,” he says, deadpan, “I believe I am rather intoxicated.”

Thor lets out a huge, hearty laugh. “As am I, brother. As am I.”

Loki stops in his tracks now, clinging to Thor’s jacket — a berry red that is most comely and brings out the blue of his eyes. He giggles and slurs his words. “Would it be funny if we were to revisit the casino in this stupor?”

“It would! But I can think of something _far_ funnier,” Thor wagers, also a little slurred but with plenty of heart too. “Perhaps if we went across the road and stole all of the condiments from that grilled meat vendor…”

Loki’s eyes dance at the prospect. “I can think of something funnier still…” _Then_ , he hits the motherlode. “ _What if_ we were to visit that Little Chapel and pretended to be betrothed to one another?”

Roars of laughter from Thor — so much so that he too affectionately clings to Loki. “A hilarious jest! Let us do it!”

They stagger with a spring in their step now, and an eye on the prize…

A short while later, they’re giggling in the aforementioned chapel.

A woman sits behind a desk, wearing a blue suit and thick-rimmed glasses. She smiles warmly. Thor grabs Loki’s hand and bellows before she can even say ‘hello.’

“We are betrothed and are very much in love.”

“Yes, very much in love we are.”

She smiles again, but this time it is more humouring than joyful. “That’s wonderful to hear. Are you looking to solidify that commitment here this evening at The Little Chapel?”

Thor squeezes Loki tight around the waist; this, combined with Thor’s response suddenly makes him burn a little hot over the endorphins of the alcohol. “By the Norns, yes! What would be the point in being betrothed otherwise?”

“That’s great. Can I see your marriage license then, please?”

“I am the Mighty Thor! I do not need such items to profess _my love for—_ ”

“You’re definitely going to need a marriage license here, sir.” She slots over a small card across the desk. “I’ll pencil you in for our 1:15am slot. Here’s the address for getting the license. It’s not too far away.” She smiles again, back to warmth. Loki grabs the card and returns the kind face.

They return not long later, giggling still. They’d had _more_ margaritas on the way back. After this, they’d stopped off at a shop and kitted Thor out in an extravagant white dress (over his clothes), pink lipstick, and a pretty crown of flowers resting atop his blonde hair.

Thor waves the license, then fans himself with it coquettishly. “We have that which you require, fair lady of The Little Chapel.”

“We would elope now!” Loki declares to the virtually empty room, arms raised and fanned outwards. “Asgard can deny our deeply profound love no further!”

The lady stares above her glasses. She does not smile this time, but neither brother notices. “That’s great. Take a seat.”

They laugh and laugh and _laugh_. Even as they walk down the aisle, they laugh. Loki has seldom felt so full of pure amusement and joy. Midgard is ridiculous. All of this false purity, rose petals adorned across the floor, a tacky trellis…

It is only when they reach the foot of the fake-altar and Thor grabs Loki roughly by his hips, that they both stop laughing.

Bumbling nervous energy instead bubbles over. Loki pays no attention to what the woman reads from the tome. All he can think about is his brother’s blue eyes, earnest and pure. He blames the swirl in the pit of his belly on the tequila.

“ _You may now kiss your partner._ ”

Thor grabs him into a dramatic embrace and tongues him profusely— with a drunken, hot mouth that tastes of lime and sugar, sweet and bitter. Loki is shocked at first, but gives as good as he gets, even going so far as to bite at his brother’s lower lip when he tries to pull away.

Thor smiles then. He has lipstick smeared all over his mouth and jawline; Loki supposes he does too, but then he forgets as they skip down the aisle, hand-in-hand.

Before they burst out the door, Thor sweeps Loki off of his feet, howling with laughter once more as Loki goes faux-weak in his arms, holding wrist to forehead.

“My wooed damsel of a bride, though you are strong in shoulder, it is I who should take charge and carry you to our blushing bed.” Loki says, as strangers outside through confetti into the air, peppering them with pieces of pastel-coloured paper.

Thor snorts. “I would like to see you try,” He says, oddly tender as he absentmindedly brushes the confetti from Loki’s face. “But first, we would feast on the vended grilled meats of the nearest street establishment!”


	2. Still Drunk?

Loki wakes up with Thor bare-ass nude beside him, _again_ , same sleazy motel as ever. The bed and surrounding floor are both scattered with brightly-coloured bottles of… condiment? In fact, _they_ are covered in it too; the air lingers with the smell of ketchup, mustard and barbecue sauce. Loki’s mind aches as it at first fails to catch up with proceedings. But then, all is remembered. He could very well throw up.

Not wanting to believe his mind’s version of the hours’ past, Loki sits up and staggers over to the dresser. He picks up the marriage certificate, while realising that _he_ is also bare-ass nude. Well that’s just great.

So, they are eloped. So, they decided to consummate said eloping by stealing various bottles of sauce from a grilled meat vendor; thinking it a marvellous idea to strip naked upon their motel return, playing ‘guess the word’ by writing —with mustard predominantly, for it had the tang of choice, and most pointed nib— and licking it off of each others’ backs. Great. And he’d been playful, _hard,_ hovering above Thor, bottle in hand…

…Norns. Loki feels filthy. He wants desperately to shower. More than this, he wants to wake Thor up and scream blame at him in a fitful rage; but then takes one more look at his passed-out brother —no— _husband_ , and throws on some clothes, fleeing to the nearest drinking establishment instead.

He always was a coward.

This is the worst thing to have ever happened.

As Loki inspects the documents further, over and over again with an aching mind, he still finds them to be as legally-binding as when he’d first read them. Perhaps even on Asgard itself; he knows not of such laws and how conclusive they are. Either way, if the All-Father were to find out, they would surely be severely punished for this level of transgression. Perhaps they would be banished forever?

And what will Thor think? Will he even _remember_?

He looks at the band on his ring finger. A vague recollection of purchasing the extremely overpriced jewellery washes over him — it had been pre-wedding, and post-more-margaritas. Loki had initially selected a pair of moderately expensive gold wedding rings in his drunken stupor, but Thor had disapproved wildly—

_“No no no,” he’d said, ever the blushing bride, “we must have silver bands to match my silver-tongued husband!”_

_“So be it! My betrothed beauty, I would treat us to a metal even more precious than this average Midgardian gold. Good mortal, where is your platinum?”_

_“Silver in colour and impossibly rare — an excellent idea, my husband…”_

Loki shudders as he remembers how Thor had grabbed his hand and sloppily kissed it; how he’d covered up a catch in his breath with laughter. These feelings, long-repressed, were _never_ supposed to see the light of day. So careful he’d always been regarding the dark pangs of desire for his big brother. And now, they are wed.

Just great.

“What is your strongest drink?” Loki demands of the barman, who only smirks at the sight of him. The place is horribly seedy and practically empty— save for a quiet drunken man the other end of the bar and another staring vacantly at the fluorescent lights of the low-volumed jukebox.

“Absinthe,” he replies after a while, polishing a glass with a dirty cloth. “Strongest shit imaginable. _Real_ nasty.”

“I will take the entire supply,” Loki says, and pulls out the only remaining cash he has, — _how much did they spend last night?_ — “for over double its value.”

“Y’know,” the barman eyes the money, and raises an eyebrow. “That amount could easily kill a man o’ your slender size, if you were try it in one go,” he says, but he takes the money and hands him the two large bottles anyway. Loki doesn’t even look at him before he’s opened one and is drinking straight from it.

“Good job I’m a God of Asgard, then,” he snarls, standing up and taking his hoard over to a more secluded booth. “You would do well to leave me in peace, mortal.”

***

Thor Odinson wakes up in the rancid motel bed. But unlike _Loki Odinson_ , the very first thing he remembers upon waking is the taste of a forbidden marital kiss that burns hot in his throat.

“ _Loki_ ,” he gasps, but as he sits bolt upright he realises that Loki is already gone. He also realises that the room reeks of food, sweat, and stale saliva. Pulling on his clothes while looking shamefully at the white wedding dress now ruined with streaks of red, brown, yellow and pink, he vacates the room to search for his brother — no, _husband_ — but finds himself stopping in his tracks as he reaches the end of the corridor. He cowers back to the room, filled with shame and fear.

He paces around, wondering what he should do next. While Thor cannot help but feel shame for this transgression, he also pines for his brother’s company and reassurance regarding it. And in a small way, he does not regret what has transpired. It is a dark sin indeed to think such thoughts, he knows, but he is ever an honest being within himself. It feels as natural as breathing to Thor, loving Loki so much— even if it is deemed _unnatural,_ and their mutual affection last night had stirred something in him.

He has always felt more than what is healthy for his brother, and he always will. It is chemical, biological, in his very bones and spirit even though he has never dared act upon it.

Not until now, anyway. Kisses and marriage — these things could not be ignored so easily, could they?

This is the worst thing to have ever happened. Surely Loki thinks so?

Panic rising in his throat, Thor feels as though he might be sick. He runs toward the bathroom sink, knuckles white with how he grips it so, but the nausea passes after a while.

He looks up at the mirror from his hovering stance then, and finds his face covered in smudged pink. He has something written on his forehead with the lipstick, faded but still prominent. Aloud, he deciphers the back-to-front words through the reflection.

“ _Ravishing quim_.” Thor growls, shaking his head. “ _Loki…_ ”

He smears it unreadable with the back of his hand before pacing out of the room, hoping that his brother’s face bears no such vulgar phrase.

It takes him only ten minutes to find Loki, in a most degenerate drinking establishment, face-down on a table in a dark, dingy corner. A large bottle of green alcohol has fallen on its side, covering the marriage papers on the table with its sticky liquid, and Loki clutches an identical, empty bottle.

Still feeling stomach-sensitive from the hard night of surprisingly hard alcohol, Thor tries not to retch at the stench of the place, slotting into the other side of the booth.

“Brother?” Loki does not raise his head, not even when Thor taps him lightly on the shoulder, then firmer still. “My brother…”

“We have a different name to call each other now,” Loki eventually replies, keeping his head firmly down down on the sticky table. “ _Husband_.”

“Have you been drinking _more_?” Thor asks, concerned, though it is already obvious. “What is this vile-smelling liquid?”

“Quit nagging, woman,” Loki chortles in a mumbled reply, slurring his words. Finally, he lifts his head up, only to take one look at Thor’s honest blue eyes before thumping straight back on the table. “Blushing bride. Leave me be.”

“Never,” Thor affirms.

“ _Do as your husband says._ ”

Thor ignores the weak command, heat creeping up his cheeks as the barman stares on with a menacing glare. “Come. This place is for mortal degenerates. I am taking you back to the motel room.”

Loki gives an audible tut, slurring his words. “As if that filthy place is better.”

Thor ignores this too and scoops him up in his arms, along with the papers. Loki makes a grab for the half-empty bottle, clutching it as Thor carries him curtly out of the bar over his shoulder.

Once back at the motel room, which has thankfully been cleaned, he guides Loki into the bathroom, wiping his own pink handwriting from Loki’s forehead with a dampened cloth before he may notice it in the mirror.

_Handsomest cock._ Well, at least it wasn’t _ravishing quim_.

Then, he leaves Loki against the wall and turns on the shower. Thor’s surprised that his brother isn’t kicking and screaming, or at the very least not mocking him with an ever-scornful tongue. Instead, he notes how Loki’s eyes are closed and his jaw is slack as he leans against the cold, off-white tiles. He says only one sentence, mouth breaking into a huge, imprudent grin.

“Absinthe is stronger than margaritas, my _husband_.”

Quite. Thor takes one look at the playful features dancing before him, and swallows down a thick feeling of lust. “Clean yourself, Loki. I know you would go mad if I allow you back into a clean bed in such a dirty state.”

“But I’m not tired,” he replies, petulant and coquettish, eyes wide now. “And maybe I _like_ being dirty. You think you know me, husband.”

“Just get it done.” Thor ignores the fire pitting in his belly and leaves Loki alone, closing the bathroom door tight. He takes one look at the bottle of formidable green liquid and swigs it all down.

The bittersweet taste of anise burns his throat, but better his than Loki’s.

“Thor,” Loki shouts but a moment later, “can you assist me?”

Part of him wonders if it is a treacherous ploy, but this isn’t the case when he opens the door to be greeted with Loki in a tangle of his own clothing, half-slumped and somehow both in and out of the cubicle, laughing manically as the water spurts in all directions.

“Dearest husband, I can attest that absinthe is more potent than margaritas.”

“So you have said. And _stop_ calling me husband,” Thor growls, but he’s annoyed at himself for saying it when he sees the hurt in Loki’s stupid, drunken face. He strips him naked, trying not to be perverse in the process, and guides him into the large cubicle.

Worried now that Loki would slip, fall and somehow drown, or flood the place, he tries not to watch as his brother impressively remains on his feet in the shower, semi-aroused, leaning back under the flow; dreamy as the water cleanses yesterday’s sin away, covering him anew.

After a long while, Loki opens his rested eyes, and shoots a look at Thor, eyes as potent and green as the unforgiving burn of absinthe.

“Join me.”

“That would be unwise,” Thor replies, jaw tightened, gaze lowered and cheeks burning.

“You do not find your husband desirable.”

It is spoken as a statement, not a question, and in this Thor finds something tragic despite the ridiculous context of it all. “You are my _brother_ , Loki… And…And I know that you are mocking me.”

Loki says nothing for a while, he simply continues to glare, continues to glisten under the running water; a shimmering menace.

Finally, he speaks with a horrifying, sobering kind of clarity. “If you will not join me as my husband, then join me as my brother.” The ache deep in Thor’s belly manifests once more. Loki blinks, tone light and defensive now. “What? We have bathed many times together before, have we not?”

Thor cannot argue this, so his resolve crumbles. He strips down and climbs into the cubicle. Silently curses himself when he immediately becomes aroused, and takes great care to keep ample distance between their bodies. Save for the condensation, Thor remains bone dry as Loki stares at him still, thoughtful, rivulets of water following a pattern down his pale face, black hair soaked wet and dripping.

“This is all your fault,” he says after a while, and before Thor can answer, Loki’s hands are wrapped around his golden neck and pulling him into a kiss. Searingly hot, even though the enveloping water has gone tepid. Loki runs his hands all over Thor’s naked, freshly-wet body as though he has craved it ever long. Thor does the same, before pulling away for air and holding sodden chunks of raven black hair between trembling fingers.

Perhaps they are both still drunk.

Loki’s eyes are so wide that they might just explode, and he’s breathing so harshly that it can be heard even over the sound of wasted water pebbling the floor, walls, swirling down the drain to be forgotten.

Thor will not admit that this is his fault, because pride will not allow him to do so, but the mention of blame in the first place must mean that Loki regrets it _all_. And why would he not? For it must only be Thor who has ever even _considered_ coveting his brother thusly.

Thor tightens his grip on Loki’s hair, getting ready to let go. But then, he has a different thought. “If it is my fault alone, why do you kiss me?”

“Because I am drunk, and you are my husband!”

Thor reckons this answer is a half-lie, that the water has perhaps had a rather _sobering_ effect in this apparent admission, but he does not argue, not when Loki slams him into the tiles with forcible strength and sets his mouth about his throat, sucking and tasting the flesh before working his way across his collarbone, torso — right the way down to his belly button, lapping at the firm muscles of sun-kissed skin there as Thor feels all but on fire from it.

_No_ rests on Thor’s lips as Loki considers his arousal then, mere inches away from its thick heat, but he does not utter the word — he _physically cannot_ utter the word —instead holds his breath and closes his eyes tight in anticipation for an action which does not come. Loki’s hands hover so close, but then he slumps back and away, thumping his head on the wall tiles once more and scrunching his face with agonised frustration.

“ _Leave me_ ,” he says, roughly, eyes closed tight. “I am a fool. I am a fool, fool, _fool_.”

“Brother _._ ” Thor breathes out the desire from his lungs and replaces what he can with an airful of aggression at Loki’s conflicting behaviour. Thor drags him up from this wallowing position, but instead of bestowing further lust or regrettable violence upon his prone form, he grabs the only bottle of shower gel that they have, opens it with an echoing _click_ and slathers it onto the novel Midgardian _body exfoliator_ that they’ve been sharing. He lathers it up and down over his brother’s body, scrubs him firmly and methodically with it; the scent of peppermint filling the room and all the while Loki’s mouth is a little bit open as he dumbly stares at anything _except_ Thor, or his own obvious arousal.

When it is finished, and he is rinsed under the now cold water —not even flinching a little bit, Thor dries Loki off with a large, rough towel that’s abrasive against his pale, sensitive skin, causing random red blotches to surface.

Loki allows all of this without a single flinch of protest, and continues to avoid eye contact as though the act of a look would shatter the intimacy, or worse still - actually address it. He even allows the run of Thor’s fingers through his hair, parting it right down the middle — just the way that Thor prefers, but Loki never wears it.

As dampened, raven-black hair fans across the white pillow, and surly green eyes flutter closed, Thor thinks he has never seen Loki look so handsome.

He pulls the thin, and thankfully fresh, bedsheet up over him, tucking him in. “Sleep, brother. We will deal with this matter tomorrow.”

Loki’s eyes suddenly fly open. “I am not tired, _husband_. I have been out of bed for but a few hours, and we have important matters to discuss.”

Thor looms over him. “Then rest first. You are drunk,” he says, knowing that he is no longer.

A languid smile plays across Loki’s face. “So are you.”

“Perhaps still a little, yes. But I have had none of this potent _absinthe_ that you speak of. And I am much better built for withstanding alcohol than you are.” Thor gets lost in protective nostalgia, then, remembering how he is older and wiser. He kisses his little brother’s forehead, chaste and sweet, but Loki coils like a trapped serpent and narrows his eyes straight afterwards.

“Am I not worthy of a kiss on the lips, now that mine have almost tasted the salt of your seed?” he asks bitterly, though he unfurls his taut expression a little, almost immediately giving up on his own sharpness. “Hm. Perhaps it would not be the wisest idea.”

But Thor has already taken the bait; he lingers above his brother for just a short moment of hesitation before he presses their lips together, warm and chaste, sweet and tender, but not without a tendril of white hot desire.

As he pulls away, Loki smirks and licks his lips, victorious. “ _Anise_. As I had thought. You are a _hopeless_ liar, Thor.”

Thor does not give the satisfaction of answering back. Instead, he climbs into the shared bed, watching intently as Loki fights the urge to sleep, succumbing within just a few moments. Though he is bone-tired, beside his _brother husband_ , Thor does not sleep for hours yet.


	3. Sober

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a long chapter. I was going to leave cram everything into one chapter, but now it's going to be two... Smut plus smut plus angst and bickering and violence. Yay!

“Is it a legally-binding document for us?” Thor asks, the very moment Loki’s eyes open. He is sat on the rickety table, holding the still absinthe-sticky marriage papers. There is no rage in his voice, just thoughtful concern.

Loki rubs his face as he immediately _remembers,_ then tries to forget the dreadful amount of alcohol consumed, and degenerate, incestuous occurrences from the two days’ prior. Upon realising that no amount of face-rubbing and pretending to be asleep is going to fix this mess, he sits upright.

“Let us not worry about it, brother,” he starts, trying to sound aloof and evasive. “Midgardians are utter fools.” He pauses. Now is the time to blame somebody else, so that they might not blame each other. “Allowing such drunken transgressions to permeate something so sacred.”

“Please Loki,” Thor says, voice brusque as he refrains from slamming his fist into the table. “This is serious and you know it. I will not ask you again. Are we are above such legality in Asgard?”

Loki sighs. Sometimes Thor is not so easily swayed or distracted as one would hope. _So_ damned headstrong too. They are princes, and Thor is to be the future king. Of course Loki _knows_ this is serious. He pulls a condescending face anyway. “I should think that the laws of Asgard would place us above the crude and ill-thought legalities of Midgard.”

“But do you know this for certain?”

“I am fairly certain, yes,” he lies.

Thor’s eyes narrow with fleeting suspicion, but then he smiles. “Then it is void in our case, and we need not worry…”

“…Though make no mistake of it. Here amongst the mortals,” Loki continues, cautious, “I do believe we are very much ever wed, my darling brother.”

“ _What._ ” Thor stands up now, though only _after_ he’s slammed his fist into table, breaking it in two as though it were a wafer. “We were so intoxicated that we could barely stand!”

“As I said. _Utter fools_ these mortal creatures are,” Loki narrows his eyes, pretending that Thor’s fit of rage did not startle him. He looks down at his own hand nonchalantly.

“You are enjoying this.” Thor accuses.

“How so?” Loki bites, flashing malice in his eyes. If Thor wishes to play a game of blame, Loki is happy to indulge. “ _You_ were the one to enjoy the foolhardy drinking session more than I, after all.” Thor yanks him up from the bed now and pins him to the wall with ease. He tries not to think about how Loki had pinned him to the shabby bathroom tiles yesterday, falters in his threat.

“Give us a kiss, lover boy,” Loki goads, as though reading his thoughts. “A morning one may taste all the more sweet.”

This warrants a fist in his face instead — Thor nearly puts him through the wall with the rage he’s built up. Loki fights back. Thor has no hammer yet and Loki has no magic, so it’s all about strength and agility. Thor, of course, wins with ease, for he is both agile _and_ strong.

Loki is weak.

“You _dare_ accuse me of such things,” Thor says, eyes wild and blonde hair equally as wild around his face as Loki lies pinned beneath him.

“Unhand me, Thor.”

“No.”

“Unhand me, Thor.” Loki can feel their erections pressed together through the thin layers of their unkempt clothing. He knows that Thor must feel it too.

“ _No_.” Petulant. Stubborn. It’s terrifying, this proximity.

“If you do not unhand me, brother, I would bite at your face until all that remains is blood and bone.” It is a visual, violent threat, but it only furthers the tension instead of quashing it. Nevertheless, Thor relents a little.

“I should muzzle you and your wicked tongue.” He scuttles back to the broken table and reads over the papers as though it will change something.

Loki sits up from the ugly carpet, nursing a sore wrist. “You are wasting your time,” he says, shaking his head. “It is done.”

“Then how is is undone?” Thor demands, throwing the papers onto the floor. Then, he seems to snap out of the ill temper, upon seeing Loki look dishevelled. Across such pale skin, there is a blackened eye already forming. A stab of guilt hits Thor’s abdomen.

Loki stands up and limps back to the forlorn bed. “I think there is a Midgardian separation law, but I have not read up on it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the bookish brother?” Thor says, voice haughty and yet much kinder than moments before.

“ _Well_ ,” Loki starts, and Thor knows that this will be a long-drawn out effort. “I do so profusely apologise for not anticipating that I would wed my very much _unbookish_ brother during a temporary banishment to a depraved world; consequently having to think the way out of it for the both of us, because said _oafish brother-bride_ is too much of a fool to assist with any kind of constructive suggestion that may benefit us in this ridiculous matter.”

Thor looks contemplative for a short while as the insults sink in, glaring at Loki all the while, but soon enough there’s a playful look on his golden features as he chuckles, then rumbles with laughter. Straight from the heart.

They always did share a depraved sense of humour with one another.

“My, this is a mess,” he says, looking over to Loki with mirth-filled eyes before placing down the papers and joining him back on the bed. “I had never thought I would marry one with quite such scorn.” He smirks at Loki, whose face remains unchanged. “Though I suppose I could do much worse for a suitor.”

This makes Loki give a reluctant scoff. “Quite.”

“You make me laugh like no other, after all.”

“Glad to be of service, brother mine.”

Thor decides to go further. “And you _are_ appealing enough on the eye. That is, when you are not slathered in the sauce of lowly-tasting condiments and encrusted with your own scraps of half-eaten hog.”

Loki scoffs again, a little less begrudged. “Aye. And I suppose you make a fair enough bride, with your rouged cheeks and lips. If not a little bulking.” He prods at Thor’s pectoral muscles. “A decent nurse-maid too, for when consumption has gotten the better of an otherwise noble god such as myself.”

The air around them is tinged with their typical camaraderie, but also with a shame and lust neither will still dare to address first. Thor strokes Loki’s arm. He’s _always_ touching him in ways that should not warrant such erotically-charged responses. Thor indulges the curious look Loki’s eyes for a brief moment, and then watches his brother jump up from the bed. Probably before he does something he may regret, which is almost everything.

Thor does not regret anything.

“Father would kill us,” Thor finally says, purposefully vague, though his voice is laced with humiliation, unable to burden the weight of emotions alone. Perhaps the purpose of the temporary banishment _had_ succeeded after all. “If he knew.”

“He won’t be looking,” Loki replies, equally as vague, though only out of hope and logic and not out of certainty. “ _Come on_. When has he _ever_ watched over us? He’s too busy with ruling the nine realms, you dolt.” Thor looks at him then, eyes hopeful. Loki continues. “That’s why he sends us away in the first place. He thinks us as naught but insolent children.”

Thor’s face lights up at this, for Loki is probably right. Then, from the vantage of the ugly bed, he notes now just how disgusting this —now trashed— motel room actually is. Definitely unfit for two princes. Especially two _married_ ones.

“Come. Let us spend our final two days on this planet of strange mortals in finer surroundings than this.”

Loki agrees. It is music to his ears.

***

They do not drink any more margaritas, but Loki cheats and tricks an impressive amount of dollars from another casino — in just under three hours this time. Thor touches no alcohol. He does not even partake in any offerings of free food and it makes Loki wonder if he’s feeling unwell. It is past lunch, after all.

Neither questions why the other has not yet removed their wedding ring.

Upon obtaining his blackjack winnings, Loki seeks out some new clothing to wear. He decides on a sharply-tailored suit — in a colour that Loki supposes is more of a stormy-sea shade than his usual green of preference. He doesn’t mind too much, as it looks very fetching and the fabric is clearly of the utmost quality. He also convinces Thor to get a similarly handsome red suit accompanied with a black shirt; they need to look the part if they’re to obtain a higher-ranking chamber to spend the rest of their banishment in, after all.

“I look a fool,” Thor says, glancing in the mirror. “It is too tight on my rump.”

Loki disagrees.

They visit the same shopping mall again. Thor curiously plays with the lipsticks, twisting them up and down to observe various hues of pink, while Loki gets a beautician to conceal his black eye. It is already fading, but he would rather look his best.

“How was the wedding?” the girl asks, biting her lower lip.

Loki huffs. “Much more pleasant than its aftermath.”

They check into an extremely grand-looking hotel then, which Loki of course cooly decides upon and takes action — being the more diplomatic and less arrogant of the two.

“We will take your finest chambers,” he demands, purveying the lavish surroundings.

The sweet-looking woman behind the desk ignores his brusque tone and smiles. “We have a lot of room options available, depending on your budget and requirements, sirs.”

“There are no requirements,” Loki barks.

Thor interrupts, “Other than it need only be fit for a king! Or at very least, two princes.”

The woman subtly glances at their matching wedding rings from behind her sleek desk, and duly notes Loki’s continued demand for their most lavish and fabulous room obtainable. She then looks at Thor’s smile, and twinkling eyes that rove only over the man he stands beside, as though infatuated.

“We have our Presidential Suite available,” she says, “which has a most incredible view… along with three thousand square feet of sheer opulence. I am sure it will more than please the both of you.”

Loki’s eyes light up. “Opulent, you say?”

“We shall take it,” Thor wiggles his eyebrows and nods his head.

“Pardon me for asking, sirs,” she asks now, voice kind as she types away behind the desk, “but how long have you two been married?”

Loki is about to tell the mortal to mind her own damned business, and that their matching surnames indicates _brothers_ , not _husbands_ , when Thor grabs him tight around the waist. Thor’s already suggestive body language all but furls into Loki’s defensive stance.

“A mere two days,” he says, smile wide, tightening his grip and snuggling into Loki’s side. He is feeling playful, pestering. Also, just a _little bit_ annoyed from Loki demanding earlier that he’d be the one to take care of getting more money and locating a new room for them. “Though it feels like a lifetime of happiness already has shone down upon us.”

Loki turns his head to look him in the eye then, face subtly incandescent with rage. Thor simply smiles all the wider and playfully rubs his brother’s nose with his own.

“Well congratulations, sirs!” the woman says now, seeming genuinely quite happy for them. A convincing couple they must indeed make. She clicks at her machine and ruffles a few papers. “We’re happy to provide you our honeymoon package too. Complimentary on this occasion, given your suite selection.”

Loki swallows roughly in his throat, while Thor swiftly lets his tight grip wane. “That is ah, most gracious. I thank you, kind lady.”

“Entirely my pleasure, Mr. Odinson,” she says, batting her eyelashes and handing over a pair of slim rectangular cards that Loki assumes are fancy keys. “If you need anything at all during your stay, be sure to let us know.”

***

The so-called Presidential Suite is certainly worthy of gracing two princes.

It is simply exquisite. Neither Thor nor Loki can quite believe it of Midgard creation.

“ _This_ is more like it,” Loki says, gasping as he drinks it all in. Expensive furnishings, beautiful high ceilings. Gold leaf, dark wood and tiny hints of red and silver everywhere, as though it were Asgard itself. He had half expected the place to be distastefully modern, or so ostentatious that it _looked_ as fake as it was, because that was the kind of ideology that this Las Vegas place seemed to uphold. But no, the room is classy and yet superior. Understated and yet beautiful. Extravagant, and yet simple. Loki runs his hand across the large mahogany table. He is in love.

In all honesty, Thor typically cares not for such extravagance, but he has to agree that it brings a welcome change from the bug-infested chambers. “We could have been somewhere like this, for all of this time?”

“Yes, if you would have let me obtain my winnings more frequently, rather than cause a scene.” He brushes his hand across the luxurious velvet of a chaise longue. “Mm. This place truly is opulent.”

Thor picks up a velvet cushion that’s trimmed with gold. “My colours, too. You _do_ have good taste, brother.” He throws it at him. Loki huffs now, but then they walk up a set of stairs and he draws a huge inward breath.

This room is also impressive. It’s open-planned, with an angular bath tub that has mirrors on both sides, mere paces away from the bed. Loki assesses the reasoning for such design. “Perversions.”

Thor says nothing, but he smiles, and picks up the array of bath oils and salts in curiosity.

The bed is large, larger than even any on Asgard, with a huge fabric-covered headboard attached to the wall behind. The intricately embroidered white bedsheets are scattered with rose petals; there’s also a huge bunch of red roses in a crystal vase on the bedside table. Green and red, together. Thorns and all.

“What fitting chambers for a wedded couple,” Thor remarks as Loki plucks a rose from the vase to inhale its scent. “In such surroundings, I would hardly mind being married to you at all.”

Thor laughs as Loki strikes him with the sharp end of the rose. It scratches his face, but no blood is drawn. “In such surroundings _I_ would still have to endure your clamorous snoring.”

Despite the aforementioned opulence, Loki finds that after only a short period of time spent within the suite he is in dire need of a distraction. He’d bathe, would that the bath were not in plain view of where Thor is currently lounging upon the bed, still clad in his suit, lazily flicking through a book named The Holy Bible. There is another bathroom with a huge shower in, but he does not feel he has the stomach to set foot in a shower again just yet.

Loki remembers then. They have a servant at their beck and call. He picks up the telephone to make his request. “I should like to read a book.”

“Do you have a preference, Mr. Odinson?” the butler politely asks.

“Something romantic,” he says, looking over toward Thor, “and deeply tragic.”

 _Wuthering Heights_. It is a most fascinating tale. Loki can hardly believe such a Midgardian affair has engrossed his interests. The only thing that makes him put the book down is when he can ignore Thor’s restless pacing and loudly rumbling stomach no longer.

Even when they have a vast amount of private space, Thor stays close to Loki and gets under his skin. Though, the same could be said for Loki too.

“I am bored,” Thor whines out loud, “and I am hungry.”

Loki continues to read. “Abundantly clear _without_ you voicing it.”

He looks up to scold him, but the sight of Thor in the evening glow of the room stops him. His brother has removed the suit jacket, but the deep-berry shade of the trousers still offer a wonderful shimmering tinge, and the opened collar of the elegant shirt reveals the thick, alluring column of his throat. Blonde waves fall freely, grazing his strong jaw.

He is as beautiful as the room, if not more.

“Shall we go back to a gambling establishment?” Thor asks.

Loki licks his lips before remembering to speak. “I would spend our final Midgardian evening in private luxury, _not_ integrating with those mortal beasts.”

“Then can we not do something together, brother? Have a feast, perhaps?”

Loki’s stomach also rumbles. Thor smirks.

They sit at the table on the huge private balcony, table filled with an abundance of meats, vegetables and sauces. They eat like princes, but they bicker like a married couple.

“But does it _really_ matter?” Thor says, mouth full of dauphinois potatoes. “Can we not just remain wed by these terms?”

“Why?” Loki scoffs, slicing through filleted steak that’s covered in pink peppercorns and carved into a heart shape. “So that you may reap the material benefits of being a lovesick honeymooner?”

“Shut up, Loki.” Thor mumbles as he swallows, humming approvingly at the taste before going for another bite. “If it does not apply on Asgard, then what should it matter? It is not as if we plan to ever return here.”

Loki considers this. “I suppose you are right.” He puts his cutlery to rest, thinking of the slogan he’d heard around and on many tacky souvenirs over the past month, and he smiles. “What happens in Midgard, stays in Midgard, my brother.”

Thor looks confused. “Your preposition is incorrect.”

“It is a turn of phrase,” Loki scowls. “And never correct my grammar again, you imbecile.”

Thor laughs and nods his head in compliance. “So it is.” He stands up and leans on the cool metal of the ornate balcony rail, observing the panoramic view. Loki joins him. The neon lights, the hustle and bustle, the glow of a waning sun and rising moon. Only a fool would think it unimpressive or unromantic.

“For all of its chaos and deception, it’s actually rather beautiful, is it not?” Thor asks, now staring intently at _him_ , and Loki nods in agreement, but he won’t dare look at anything except the view ahead.

They stay like this, in silence. Thor averts his gaze back to the electric city, sighing heavily.

And finally, it comes.

“Loki, I am sorry,” Trepidation coils in Loki’s stomach when Thor touches his arm once more. “I should not have… I thought it would be a great jest… I thought _all_ of this would be a great jest.” Loki continues to stare straight ahead, but his eyes turn glassier than what they were. “But these actions, brother. They have stirred things within me that I would rather not have manifest.”

Loki finally glares at his ever-honest brother, somewhat astounded at the brutal elegance of his articulation. He would tell him that he feels the exact same with similar such words, but given how proficient Thor has already been, and how strongly Loki feels, he’s too afraid to say it aloud.

He always was a coward.

“And I shouldn’t have kissed you in that rancid shower,” Loki says eventually. _Or licked your body profusely_ , he doesn’t say. “Perhaps then, we are even. Let us forget about it.”

“Mm,” is all that Thor responds with, though his face reddens and his eyes look defeated, though no less beautiful. “Dessert then, brother?”

Loki gives a sad smile. “Inside. Away from all this.”

And so it is. Loki orders room service once more. Champagne, melted chocolate and sugary waffles, delicate macaroons, sweet, ripe strawberries, maple syrup, fresh chantilly cream…

They sit upon the rose petal bed, stretched out, and lazily pick at the elegant dessert platter. Loki places down his champagne flute on the bedside table, conveniently moving himself away from Thor’s proximity a few inches more.

The champagne has an immediate and pleasant effect on the body, making Loki giddy, but not drunk. He considers ordering a _Martinez_ , but then decides against it.

“Another bottle?” he says, tempted to smash it on the floor like Thor would.

“Perhaps soon,” Thor replies, and Loki places the empty bottle upside down into the ice bucket instead. “I think that first, we should play the word game again.”

Loki looks at him with a brief flash of panic, but then he takes another sip of champagne and smiles cooly. “Fine. I will best you again even when we are sober.” He stirs the melted chocolate with a spoon and runs his other hand over the smooth bedsheets. “Though let us not sully such fine embroidery in the process.”

Thor unbuttons his shirt and lies on his front. Loki drizzles the chocolate across his back in a precise and fluid motion.

Thor inhales sharply at the sensation. “B-r-oh, too easy. _Brother_.”

Loki wants to lick his finished work off, but is too much of a coward, so he scrapes it with his hand instead, scooping it up then wiping it on a napkin.

“My turn,” says Thor. “On your front, loser.” Loki shoots him a dark glance, then reluctantly removes his own shirt. He _hates_ being naked in front of anybody. Even Thor. _Especially_ Thor. He removes his trousers and underwear too, just for authentic replication and spite; self-consciously lying on the bed, burying his face into a soft, feathery pillow.

Not to be outdone, Loki listens to Thor remove his remaining garments, before he straddles the backs of Loki’s thighs, then reaches for the chocolate.

He spells _Husband_ , with delicate care, across Loki’s slender back, one hand steadfast on his shoulder. Loki is thankful that Thor cannot see his face, which is now more than a crimson blush. He doesn’t shout out the answer; _can’t_ shout out the answer…

Thor says nothing either. He simply places both his hands on Loki’s hips, and uses his tongue to remove the chocolate. Licking up his body with increasing fervour, beyond the end of the word itself and up past his shoulders to the nape of his neck he continues, licking and capturing skin with a wilful mouth.

Loki is thankful now that his erection is pressed into the bedsheets, hidden from sight, though he cannot hide a stuttered moan that escapes his throat as Thor breathes into his ear.

Thor works his way back down the pale, lean body, past shoulders and spine and hips to buttocks, where he cannot help but bite down gently at the flesh. He then gives an experimental lick where buttock meets thigh; the sensitive flesh there causing a shudder from Loki, then works his way slowly inwards, towards the real prize he seeks.

Loki does not stop him. In fact, he adjusts and spreads a little so that he might gain access to more of the darkened, hidden flesh. Thor licks at the hole there, probes a slick finger in. Finds the sweet spot that has Loki mindlessly rutting into the covers within minutes, as though it was only ever meant to be found by Thor.

As he enters Loki slowly, Loki’s body tenses. He kisses his shoulder, touches with reverence, and Loki relaxes into the invasive stretch.

He comes into the sheets twice, before Thor is even _remotely_ close to his own orgasm. Thor continues to softly moan and thrust; they do not say a single word to one another, terrified of shattering the pretence. Their hands lock together, platinum shimmering under the glow of the room, and Loki wonders if he will ever feel this loved by anybody else in all of the realms.

Thor finally comes, melting into his brother’s forbidden heat. “ _Loki,_ ” is all that he says, voice in a ragged whisper pressed up close as his fingers grip tightly at shoulders and neck.

After it, they lie beside each other on the bed in total silence. Staring at the ceiling. The dessert platter remains somehow perfect on the other side of the firm mattress.

“This is all your fault,” Loki spits after a while, and this time he is right.

They stare at each other, and Thor _pounces_ at Loki now. They wrestle about the place, all but ruin the beautiful room with their ministrations — a lamp broken, chocolate smeared up the walls, teacups clattered and champagne flutes smashed, expensive fabrics torn to ribbons as they acts like depraved wild animals might.

“You think you know what I want,” Loki’s anger stammers as Thor punches him in the face. “You don’t know me at all, Thor! But ah, I know _you_.” His nose trickles with blood as he dodges and antagonises yet more. “A base fool you are, brother mine…”

Loki grapples for the bedside vase as Thor pushes him into the wall. As he smashes it over Thor’s head, water cascades and thorny roses scatter all across the air.

“Downstairs,” Loki growls as Thor finally startles, “ _now_.”

Thor drags and throws him down the stairs to the lower level, knowing already what Loki desires. He pins Loki to the chaise longue by straddling him, as he tears up the fabric of a red cushion and gags him with it.

They fuck face-to-face on the mahogany table. Loki claws at it until his fingers bleed; and then he claws at Thor’s back as Thor finally wraps a hand around his cock. Loki somehow removes the gag with trembling fingers. “We are both losers in _this_ game, my secret husband,” he rasps into Thor’s ear before sucking at it. They both come again soon after, biting at one another’s flesh in desperation.

“I am going to bed,” Thor says as he pulls out, disgusted at the mess they’ve made all around them. He looks down at his forlorn, bruised and bleeding brother. “It would be wise if you left me alone.”

As Thor slopes back up the stairs, Loki stares back up at the ceiling from his mahogany perch. He quite agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback/comments/kudos always welcome :)


	4. The Last Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out a lot more difficult to write than I was expecting. *shruggy shoulders* hope you enjoy it anyway!

Thor wakes up to the sight of his brother naked, lying wide awake beside him.

This evening, together they will walk back to the desert, travel the Bifrost and return home to Asgard. The thought of it all is enough to make Thor sick with worry. He adjusts his position a little, but remains in a lying position on the bed, feigning casualness.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, already noting dark circles and wondering if Loki has even slept at all. Loki doesn’t answer, he just continues to vacantly stare at the white ceiling above.

The room around them is a mess. Shattered vase, roses everywhere, torn fabrics, pieces of furniture jagged and broken. Thor thinks of the ramshackle motel and their degenerate behaviour there too. _His_ degenerate behaviour…

They had not lasted more than an hour apart the night before. Thor had traipsed back downstairs, devoid of all apology, and dragged Loki back into the bed, kicking and screaming and _enjoying_ …

“Loki,” he starts, already lost for words. The apology fails him even now.

“ _Don’t_.” Loki shoots him a look of utter disdain, eyes fiercely green. “Just don’t. It is done. Let us move on.”

As he turns his back on Thor, Thor notes the healing bruises on his back, the wild tattered hair and vicious bite marks on the nape of his neck; he looks as debauched as the room — and if it wasn’t for his contrary, stubborn nature, Thor would attempt to hold him or heal him, at least clean him up a little. But he knows better than that, so instead he tries to show emotions through words. “I have dishonoured you.”

Loki turns back around then, face filled with incredulousness, lost for words. “We are _brothers_ ,” is all that he manages to say in return. “Brothers, Thor. The violence is acceptable. The—”

“I know,” Thor replies, truly ashamed. “Forgive me.” He sits up then, golden back exposed to the cool temperature of the room. “If it would please you, you could bestow violence upon me in return. I would welcome it. And I will not touch you in such a way again.”

Loki continues his glance — an equal enough assault, then he laughs bitterly.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Sometimes Thor thinks that he _does_ understand, but it’s not as simple as that yet. He is a young, arrogant god, they both are. He does not comprehend just how vulnerable his little brother can be. Loki, who always appears so self-assured and contrary. Always so beautiful, in anger and joy alike. Always so painfully insecure.

Indeed, Thor still does not understand Loki, and perhaps he never will, but he knows him better than anyone else in all of the realms at least.

And now it is all _wrong_.

“Then tell me, brother.”

“It is beyond your comprehension, fool. Just be silent and let us move on.”

And Thor tries to keep to Loki’s wishes, thinking it the least he can do. They lay in the bed for a while more, increasingly pensive. The clock is ticking. They don’t know how to behave, what’s right anymore.

Thor notes that, wrapped up in the crisp white embroidered sheets, Loki looks rather like a debauched bride. He goes to say as much, hoping it may come across as a light-hearted joke and take them back to the right side of a playful, delicate line, but then Loki shuffles about uncomfortably, puts his clothes back on from where they’re strewn over the room and reaches for his book, so Thor decides against it.

Loki decides after a long hour that if he had his magic returned, he would not hesitate to transform Thor into dust or perhaps an ugly amphibian creature, so that he wouldn’t have to suffer another moment of his brother’s arduous glare. “Must you gawp?” he growls, without lifting his eyes away from the pages.

Thor simmers. Silent treatment has never boded well with him, even when he knows he has done wrong. “I would do as I please.”

“We have a servant,” Loki closes the book over now, keeping his thumb between the pages. “You can request anything for our final hours here.” He pauses for effect. “Perhaps a buxom woman to sate your lusts, now that our romancing is officially concluded.”

Thor had forgotten about the butler service. “Which button do I press?” he asks, flummoxed by the device in hand. Loki tuts and pretends not to be hurt.

“Honestly. We’ve been in this realm for thirty days and _still_ you do not understand the concept of a telephone?” he turns another page. “Press zero, thrice.”

Thor does so, and talks into the phone, loud and abrupt. “I require sustenance. Yes, that will suffice. And some fresh towels too. Leave it all at the door. Do not disturb us.”

Loki raises an eyebrow.

Thirty minutes later, there is a gentle knock. Left there: a silver platter, filled with delicacies and fruits. Fluffy towels. Fresh rose petals. Thor prepares a bath; the oils fill the air, heady jasmine and cherry blossom. He scatters the petals and swirls the water around with his fingers before stepping away, prideful and smug.

“Is that for your whore?”

“If you consider yourself my whore, husband, then yes.” Thor shoots him a hurt glance. “And when have you ever known me to treat women as such?”

Loki feels a little guilty then, but he won’t dare show it. Instead, he continues to read his book and act aloof.

“ _Please_ ,” Thor offers eventually, realising that Loki is the more stubborn creature this morning. “You are bruised and aching. A bath will soothe your muscles. Help you relax.”

Loki scoffs and breathes in the permeating scent. “I am quite fine.”

Thor walks over to the bed and offers his hand out; a final branch. “If you bathe, I will hand feed you grapes, so that you may mock me for all eternity. How does that sound, brother?”

Loki considers this, before standing up and stripping bare once more, sliding into it. As he slides down, a huge moan escapes Loki’s mouth; the water and oils do offer an instant relief to his battered skin.

Thor wishes to goad at this fact, but he is happy enough that Loki is looking after himself. He does not realise he’s staring.

Loki smiles. “Join me,” he says, smirking. “ _Husband_.”

Hesitation. “That would be—”

“Unwise? Yes. I know.” Loki plucks a rose petal between finger and thumb, crushing it delicately. “Still, though,” he flicks the ruined petal back into the water. “Be a shame to waste it.”

And just like that, Thor’s resolve crumbles once more. In fact, he’s not even sure if he has anything _left_. He unbuttons his shirt, removes his trousers and slides into the opposite side, determined not to lay a finger on Loki neither in lust nor violence. “How is your book?” he asks in a feeble attempt at distraction, “Can you guess how it will end?”

Loki scoffs once more. As if Thor had _ever_ cared about his reading. He’d finished the damned book yesterday evening, besides. Oddly enough, Loki thinks he would be Heathcliff in any such analogy. “It ends in the utmost tragedy,” he deadpans, tossing the book away with disregard. “Now, where are these grapes you speak of?”

Thor rolls his eyes, leans across to the platter and feeds Loki just three grapes before Loki is sucking at his fingers with white hot desire.

“ _Brother_ ,” Thor warns, pulling his fingers away. “That was not my intention.” He grabs the washcloth and ignores Loki’s deathly stare, cleaning only himself. He aches too.

“Brother, or husband? Do make up your mind,” Loki says, almost a mockery but with a little too much vulnerability. “Cleanse me,” he adds, while Thor hesitates once more. “Go on,” he continues, eyes glowing green. “If you like, I can pretend that I am drunk on absinthe. Or Margaritas. Champagne, martinez. Your choice, really.”

“You can be so cruel,” Thor says sadly, wondering how they’d managed to go from hilariously tacky chapel wedding to goading contempt and sordid sexual desire within a few petty days.

“So can you, oaf,” Loki huffs and snatches the washcloth from Thor’s grip, running it roughly over his own body. “ _Fine_.” He gets closer to Thor and starts to rub it over golden muscles, though much more gently than he had treated himself. Beneath the water, Thor is already hard. They both are, and they both already know it. Loki reaches below, skimming his hands up Thor’s thigh, movements floaty and feather light in the water as he avoids the cock that begs to be touched. “After all, look at how bruised I remain…”

It had not gone unnoticed by Thor, how Loki’s injuries had refused to diminish as they typically would. Perhaps it was an effect of the lack of powers, or the pungent Midgardian air that prevented a speedier recovery.

Or perhaps it was the tenacity of the battle.

“You should not goad me, Loki,” Thor warns now as Loki nears, already burning with shame at the darkened thoughts in his mind, “for it seems that I cannot control myself.”

“I know,” Loki says, but not with malice. In fact, he says it with a tainted kind of expectation that Thor’s not used to hearing from him. “You are a fool. But you are _my_ fool.” Loki holds Thor’s face between his hands then. They stare at one another for a while, air thick with unspoken sentiment.

“Please, brother,” Thor pleads now. “I can take no more of this. Forgive me.”

Despite this, it’s Loki who leans in first. He presses his lips to Thor’s gently, but with just enough lingering force to make clear his intent. Thor responds in kind, dragging his fingers at the nape of Loki’s neck where hidden black curls are damp with sweat; breathing in sharply as Loki’s hand skitters down his slick neck and palms at his heart.

Loki pulls away and sucks in a little laugh, joyful and malevolent as he feels the hammering beat of it. “I already have, husband mine.”

Thor tongues at Loki’s throat then, biting and sucking and moaning, then he captures Loki’s lips once more, pushes him down into the water gently with the weight of his own body. “I love you,” he declares, voice deep and emotional. Loki does not openly return the sentiment, but Thor already knows that his brother loves him too.

They have always loved one another, and they always will. Nothing will change this fact; Yggdrasil, the Norns, marriage or anything else be damned if it isn’t so. And though he doesn’t reciprocate with words, Loki makes a keening sound in the back of his throat, and wraps his hands around Thor’s neck, pulling him down into another kiss, messy and hot and wet.

Thor pulls away for breath after a while. Water splashes around them as he traces the bruises across slick pale skin caused in the hours before, guilt still ebbing through his own bones. They will fade soon enough, but perhaps the memory of them will linger in both of their minds for some time to come.

“We would not do this,” Thor warns now, half-whispering as Loki whimpers again, though he does not know exactly _who_ it is he’s trying to warn. He grapples at the wedding ring on Loki’s finger, twirling it around thoughtfully, before pinning the wrist behind Loki’s head on the edge of the bath, licking a stripe across the sensitive inner flesh of his arm. “Though we are still husband and wife for a short while yet,” he adds, a mess of contradiction.

The water between them ebbs and flows.

They fuck. Tender, insecure, full of love.

***

A short while afterward, they walk out to the balcony. Thor first, Loki follows.

It’s late-afternoon, yet the streets below are already bustling with a unique kind of energy that they’ve both learned to appreciate over the past thirty days.

Loki is wrapped up in a fluffy white robe, Thor is naked save for a towel wrapped around his hips. Physically, the elder _looks_ so much older, though there are only a few years between them. Loki tries not to look at that which he has always desired, but had not quite realised, and he has never felt so young and foolish. “What if father _has_ been watching?” he asks, unable to get the thought from his mind. Oh, how _he_ would be punished.

“You said he would not,” Thor’s face drops to a hurt growl. “Do you doubt your own words?”

“I am Loki the Silvertongue. Brother, you must learn to doubt _every_ word I say.”

“That is not what I asked,” Thor replies, sadly. He thinks about their roles already carved out, how he sometimes wishes it wasn’t so, how he could never admit such a thing to anyone. They are princes, and one day they will rule the realms together with Thor as king. “Did you wake up on that morning and think it was all a foolish mistake?” he asks instead.

“I did not know what to think, I was still drunk,” Loki confesses, before allowing the briefest of sad smiles. “Drunk enough to attempt fellatio with my own kin.”

Thor looks at his brother then. So complicated and so beautiful. There will never be another like him, like _them_. He does not want to say the words aloud, doesn’t want them left hanging in the air vicious and wrong and true, but knows now that for his own sanity, he must. “If we were not of the same blood, my brother… and perhaps if you could bear a chi—”

Loki shoves at him now, startles and hangs him over the balcony, “Do not!” he screams into the air between them, eyes wild with rage. “Do _not_ speak to me of children and love, as though I would be some useful whore to you were we not of the same blood!”

Thor pushes forward, losing his towel in the process; Loki ends up pinned beneath him on the cold hard ground. “I would tell you how I feel, brother—”

“Brother, _husband_ , what does it matter?” Loki spits viciously, “Would that you leave me alone to grow into something else instead of a pitiful creature in your shadows!”

“But when we return home—”

“This will not continue,” Loki glowers. “It has already been decided. Remember?”

“Fine!” Thor storms back into the bedroom and rifles through the mess. Loki follows him again, ever the fool.

“What are you _doing_?”

Thor ignores him, finding what he was looking for. The marriage papers. He tears them up in a blind rage, and Loki could throttle him for it.

“You _fool_.”

“Well. They mattered not,” Thor sniggers. “It matters not, does it not?”

“Fine,” Loki says, when it’s anything but.

They begin the walk back to the desert in silence, as the sun sets across a purple and orange sky.

***

Odin does not know. They fretted for naught.

“What did you learn?” he bellows from Hlidskjalf, peering down at his sons with a skeptical face.

“I learned all about humiliation, father,” Loki says, feigning modesty while Thor can see beyond it lies a smile that’s wickedly cruel. “I learned a few other things too. Mortals are pathetic creatures, but their alcohol is not all bad.”

“Enough,” Odin barbs. “Be gone, Loki. I would speak with Thor alone.” Loki huffs petulantly and then walks away with his head held high. Odin shakes his head and turns to Thor. “And what of you, my firstborn? Do you realise now that you cannot allow yourself to be so easily led by mischief? That it can turn into something more dangerous?”

Thor’s face burns with shame. The indiscretion they’d been punished for was _nothing_ compared to what had recently transpired between two brothers. “I do.”

“Very well. Perhaps you will wield Mjolnir yet.”

Thor looks at Odin, hopeful. He would make Asgard proud. Fight for her ’til death if need be, put selfishness and mirth aside. “Is that all, father?”

“Of course. Now be gone.”

Odin smiles faintly when Thor is gone, thinking his punishment a success.

He fails to realise yet that when it comes to Loki, Thor will _never_ learn his lesson.

***

Being back home soon helps both Thor and Loki to forget about what happened on —or _in_ — Midgard, but it only serves as a temporary distraction delaying the inevitable. “I will melt the rings for my magic,” Loki says casually and out of the blue, approximately a month later, while on a hunting trip to the snow-laden mountain tops of Asgard’s outer regions. “The metal is good.”

Thor agrees, but never gives him his platinum band when they return back to the citadel, instead choosing to keep it hidden in his tunic pocket. They do not speak of it again.

Loki keeps his in an enchanted trinket box. He finds himself looking upon it and wondering, if they ever returned again to Midgard, would they behave in the same way. Though there are so many responsibilities and future plans already paved for _the future king_ that Loki doubts if they’ll ever set foot on Midgard at all, never mind together again.

Many many months later, just before Thor is _finally_ due to be granted with Mjolnir after an array of further hiccups, he visits Loki’s chambers in a mild panic.

“I think we should tell him,” he says, to an aggrieved Loki. “Or we should tell mother. Perhaps she would understand. We could explain that it was a mistake, that we are older and wiser now…”

“How can you expect anybody to understand that which we cannot ourselves fathom?” Loki bites, feeling panic rise in his own throat. “Father sent us to Midgard to think about what humiliation meant. Are we so prideful that we cannot live with the shared secret that we were drunkenly eloped? Surely, only _unwarranted_ pride would make us endeavour to undo such actions when they will not mean a thing to our future. And _that_ would not be truly what father would want us to do.”

Loki runs circles around Thor’s mind with his logical reasoning, and Thor cannot argue with it. When he returns to his chambers that night, he wonders if he will be worthy when he attempts to wield Mjolnir for the first time on the ‘morrow, knowing that his heart feels heavy with this secret. That the hammer would so willingly accept a wielder who had _married_ his own brother, remained willingly and secretly married, as though shared blood meant nothing?

When she thrums under Thor’s touch the following day, Loki looks on with a distinct jealousy that burns even worse in his throat than rising panic.

***

So the secret remains. It remains for years, in fact. Through love, and through hate, silently burning between them.

Then, the night before Thor’s coronation, there’s a knock at Loki’s door. A door that nobody with sense ever dares to knock at.

“I ache to touch you,” Thor confesses to the black-darkened room in all but a whisper, breath hot against Loki’s skin as he pushes him up against the cool wall.

“You are a fool.”

“I know,” he smiles, but it soon dissolves into something more poignant. “Your fool.”

They almost kiss again, but Thor pulls away when he almost gets what he wants — laughing nervously while making excuses about jests and mischief, and Loki feels like he is a Little Chapel fool once more. Or perhaps just the only lie his brother has ever known that’s worth keeping.

And then Jotunheim happens. _Not brothers. Never were._ It hurts all the more.

The Void happens. New York happens. A little, long-forgotten mortal piece of paper hardly seems significant in the grand scheme of such things, but when he sees an opportunity to be seized, Loki mocks his brother for it nonetheless. “I want a divorce,” he laughs as Thor beats Hel from him on rocky Midgardian terrain, trying to forget the pain he had felt when they’d fought in Asgard’s observatory in the months before.

Thor, of course, ignores him, for the golden only son has _truly_ learned humiliation now, through a mortal banishment and falling in love with a mortal, as though bedding kin was not degrading enough. Loki is sick at the thought of it. While he’s been dancing with death, Thor has been dallying around, too steeped in honour to remember his past. Loki will not forgive him for this, never.

Then Loki dances with death again, and he _dies_ in his brother’s arms — an actual, terrifying, honourable death — fighting once more alongside the only person left worth fighting for.

As Loki rasps the word _sorry_ into the harsh Svartelheim air, he wonders if Thor could ever be as sorry as he is. He tries not to think about Hel, or what they have become.

What they could have been together.

It is not done. It is _never_ done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Any feedback or comments are more than welcomed. They will add fire to my pit of fic-writing.


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